


permanently black and blue (for you)

by likecharity



Category: Chronicles of Narnia RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Skandar looks a little wide-eyed. "God," he says, "this is stupid. We don't seem to be able to come into physical contact anymore without causing each other serious damage."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	permanently black and blue (for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the injuries Ben and Skandar gave each other during the filming of _Dawn Treader_. For Moog (without her rampant encouragement I might not have ended up finishing this). Title from 'Bruises' by Chairlift. Also, while I was writing this, the skin on the tip of my index finger cracked and it made it so painful to type. Which seemed sort of fitting.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Skandar groans, sword clattering down onto the floor by his side and alarming some of the props people. "Are you okay?"

Ben is clutching at his leg, sort of bent over. Everyone else is just sort of standing around like they're not sure how to react, except Skandar of course, who is panicking.

"I didn't mean to—oh, god, I went left when I should've gone right, didn't I? I'm so sorry," he babbles, feeling exponentially stupid. How can he be planning to go to Cambridge when he can't even tell his left from his right? He actually crouches down on the floor and starts fumbling with Ben's trousers like he's planning to somehow magically cure the pain with his hands.

"It's okay, it's okay," Ben says, batting him away, "it's fine, it was just a bit of a shock, I'm fine."

Skandar looks at him doubtfully. He just stabbed him in the leg with the stiff rubber tip of a sword while moving at great speed—he's pretty sure that's got to hurt like hell. 

"Are you sure? I'm sorry," Skandar says, apologising for the fourth time, and Ben gets to his feet a little shakily.

"Really, I'm fine," Ben says through gritted teeth. "Let's go again."

"I'm sorry," Skandar says again for good measure, and then calls out to the crew, "It won't happen again!"

Which turns out to be a massive lie.

This time, Skandar gets Ben in the cheekbone, about an inch from his eye. Ben fully drops to the floor this time, hand pressed to his face.

"Oh god," groans Skandar, sinking down onto his knees and peering at Ben's face. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm tired. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's okay," Ben chokes out, but it really doesn't seem like it, so Skandar tries to pry his fingers from his face to see how bad it is. But Ben moans in pain, flinching away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Skandar says, "oh god, I could have stabbed you in the eye, I'm so sorry."

Ben slowly removes his hand from his face, wincing and giving Skandar a very strained, tight-lipped grin. His eyes are watering. Skandar hates himself.

"I'm okay," Ben says, which is clearly a lie. "Just—maybe we should go slower this time."

This seems like a good idea to everybody involved, and so they start a sort of slow-mo swordfight, Skandar mentally obsessing over each step—step left, step right, slash right, stab left...and then they start to speed up, as Skandar manages to get past both of the points he messed up before, and it's going much better, quicker, the rhythm flowing smoothly. The extras begin to cheer, and Skandar grins, feeling as though they're proud of him for getting this far this time, and filled with relief that he's finally got it.

The two of them dance around the deck, swishing their swords back and forth, and then Ben grins, too, and his whole face lights up, and Skandar gazes happily at him and completely forgets his next move.

This is how he ends up jabbing Ben in the face for the second time.

Ben lets out a harrowing yell of pain, and his body crumples onto the floor. Skandar wants to stab _himself_ in the face.

"Oh—oh my god," he stammers, staring in horror at the heap-of-Ben almost howling on the floor in front of him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, shit, I didn't—I just—"

There's pretty much nothing he can say at this point to make the situation better. He turns around wildly, looking to someone—anyone—for help. The extras are lined up behind him, all shaking their heads in disapproval. He flounders, cheeks reddening, and sinks down onto his knees beside Ben, who is clutching at his mouth and nose, his face screwed up in pain.

"Did I break your nose? Oh, god."

"I don't know," Ben says weakly, voice muffled through his hands.

Michael appears on the other side of the ship, hurrying over and crouching down beside Ben too.

"I think we should take this away from you," he says sternly, taking Skandar's sword from his hand.

**

Ben waves aside all offers of help and tries to get back to his trailer as quickly as possible. All he really feels like he needs is a little bit of privacy, away from everybody's concerned eyes and general sympathetic noises. _Yes, it does hurt rather a lot, but no, he doesn't need a doctor, he's just going to put some ice on it, yes, thank you, all right, see you later._

In his trailer, he perches on the bed, taking a few deep breaths before shutting the curtains and beginning to undress. His leg probably hurts the least of all, but seeing as his face feels like it's been pulverised, he's not sure if he's the best person to judge that sort of thing and maybe it's best if he takes a look at the damage. There's a bit of a nasty-looking red lump, he discovers, but that's about it.

In just his shirt and boxers, he limps to the bathroom to take a look at his face in the mirror.

It doesn't look so great.

It looks so not-great, in fact, that he actually feels bad for the make-up crew, and whoever it is who touches up their faces in the studio after everything has been filmed. Just below his eye, a bruise is beginning to form from the second jab, the skin mottled. His lower lip is swollen into a painful pout, the top lip larger than usual too, and one whole side of his mouth is a deep purplish-red. He touches it gingerly. A fresh burst of pain throbs through his entire jaw. 

He stops touching it. 

He sits back down on the bed instead. He thinks he should probably put something cold on the bruises to prevent them from getting any worse, and to numb the pain, but he doesn't seem to be able to move. He thinks of how swordfighting is like a dance, almost, how each little step is vital to the routine, how he trained for days just to make sure he knew that one scene off by heart. Skandar, though, was busy doing all kinds of other things, and had less time to focus on the swordfighting. He'd had less practice, he was tired—it was all completely understandable, an honest mistake (or three honest mistakes, as the case may be). 

Ben thinks of how much _fun_ it was when things were going right, how Caspian and Edmund were engaging in a little playful competition and how he, too, felt like he was play-fighting, like he and Skandar often try to do between takes, usually succeeding for about two minutes before they have their swords taken away. He thinks of Skandar's big, goofy grin as they clashed blades, as they hopped around on the deck, how their rhythm was _perfect_ , so fluid and natural, until the first wrong move. He thinks of Skandar's worried face, how they went slower, then, to find their footing again, how the smiles faded. He flashes back to being in a crumpled heap on the floor, certain that his nose was broken.

His mouth really, really hurts. He suddenly becomes aware that it feels wet, hot liquid gathering on his lip, and, alarmed, he brings his fingers to it to wipe away the blood. And then he realises that it's not blood. He's _crying,_ tears making quiet tracks down his cheeks without him even noticing. Embarrassed, feeling pathetic, he wipes his eyes, sniffing, getting up to get dressed. It's hardly a bad enough injury to make him cry like a little boy, he thinks, angry at himself for it. And it was abundantly clear that it was a mistake, what with Skandar apologising over and over and looking more freaked out than anybody, so it's not like he has the excuse of being deliberately beaten up by a friend.

He only manages to step into his trousers, though, before he's almost doubling over, chest heaving as the tears fight their way out of him, unbidden and inexplicable.

**

Skandar waves aside all offers of help, trying to get to Ben's trailer as quickly as possible. _Yes, he's sure Ben is quite badly hurt, but it's okay, he'll take care of it, he's the one who caused the injuries after all, har har—yes, okay; they'll ask for a first aid kit if they need it._

He is quite possibly feeling more guilty than he has ever felt in his entire life.

"Ben?" he calls, knocking repeatedly on the trailer's door. "Ben, it's me, can I come in and help? I'm so sorry. I might've mentioned that. But I really am."

He can hear the sound of someone shuffling about inside, but gets no actual response.

"Please let me in, please talk to me," Skandar pleads, beginning to panic a little at the thought that Ben might actually be giving him the silent treatment, or—worse—be so badly hurt that he can't even speak. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

When his worry rapidly gets to be too much for him and he just goes ahead and opens the door, he's surprised to see that Ben is not sulking, nor passed out in pain on the floor. He's actually pulling on some sweatpants and looking somewhat manic while doing so.

Actually, Skandar can't see his face right away, as his head is hung low and his long hair is like a curtain obscuring it. But when he straightens up and shakes the hair out of his face, Skandar is alarmed by his huge grin (made slightly grotesque by the way it pulls at the swollen skin of his lip) and the fact that he seems to have tears in his eyes.

Oh no, Skandar thinks. Oh no, he's caused him concussion, he's made him go delirious from pain. What if he's destroyed Ben's grip on reality permanently—?

"Hi," says Ben, and Skandar knows immediately that he _has_ been crying, because his voice has that sort of sore-and-weak quality about it, not to mention the way that he immediately wipes his cheeks in a futile attempt to hide the fact. The frighteningly wide grin, it seems, is just a cover.

"Are you okay?" Skandar asks, rather stupidly, shutting the door behind him and crossing the room.

"Yeah," says Ben, and sniffs, sort of hanging his head again so that his hair falls in his eyes.

Skandar decides maybe he should go along with this pretence, at least to some degree. "Your lip looks awful," he says quietly, "I'm so sorry."

"I think it's getting better," Ben says.

"It looks worse than it did ten minutes ago," Skandar disagrees. "Did you put anything cold on it?"

"Yes," says Ben, and then, "no, no I didn't."

"Sit down," says Skandar, and Ben does so, obediently perching on the edge of the bed and looking at him expectantly. 

Skandar just sort of looks back at him for a bit, badly shaken by the way he looks. He looks—well, he looks like he just got in a pretty bad fight, and lost. Pretty badly. There's the swelling of his lip, of course, the skin around it already starting to darken, and there's another blossoming bruise below his eye. His eyes themselves are slightly puffy and red, presumably from crying, which Skandar can't quite cope with. He can't deal with the thought that _he_ did this, that this is all his fault.

He shakes himself, drops to his knees to rummage around in the fridge.

"This is the best I can do," he says, pulling out a can of Coke and turning back to Ben.

"That's fine," says Ben, and reaches out for it, but Skandar ignores him, sitting down beside him on the bed instead.

He eases Ben's hand away from his mouth, where he's fidgeting with the swollen part of his lip. "You should probably stop touching it."

"I know, it's just—"

"Here," Skandar says, gently placing the Coke to Ben's mouth, ever so lightly, watching at the condensation on the can pools between Ben's slightly parted lips. He presses a little harder, and Ben hisses. A little trickle of water runs down his chin, collects into droplets on his beard.

"Sorry," Skandar croaks. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah—it just—no, it's good," Ben says, his voice slightly muffled and cracking on the last word.

Skandar's heart seems to do somersaults somewhere in the region of his chest. He doesn't feel like it's quite where it's supposed to be, and it's bothering him.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," he apologises, easing the can up to the bruise on Ben's cheek, causing Ben to breathe in a little sharply. 

Ben says nothing. The whole thing is starting to seriously freak Skandar out. He's never seen Ben upset before, besides while he's acting, and it's alarming to see, especially because Ben is usually so cheerful, laughing and joking around. Not to mention the way Ben usually seems so in _control_ of things, quietly confident, never seeming particularly vulnerable in any way. And now he's sitting here with tears in his eyes, wincing every time Skandar moves just the slightest bit, and clearly trying as hard as he possibly can not to show how much pain he's in.

"It's okay, you know," Skandar hears himself say, "I know it hurts."

Ben looks at him questioningly, but says nothing.

"I mean," says Skandar, distantly wondering why he said anything in the first place, "I'm not going to judge you or call you a pussy or anything."

Ben looks away.

"A-and if you're worried about making me feel bad, that's okay too," Skandar goes on. The Coke can is starting to make his fingertips hurt from how cold it is. "I mean, I deserve it."

He rolls the can over slightly, down to Ben's lip again, and Ben jerks and swears, a high, breathy little "fuck".

"Sorry, sorry," Skandar babbles.

"Stop apologising! It's not your fault," Ben bursts out suddenly.

Skandar stares at him blankly. "How is it not my fault? It's like, _entirely_ my fault."

"It was an accident!"

"Yeah, an accident _of mine_."

Ben takes the Coke out of Skandar's hand and places it firmly down on the bed. "Well, you feeling rotten about it isn't going to help anybody," he says. "The damage is done now, we can't turn back time."

This does not make Skandar feel much better at all. "But I feel terrible," he says, quietly. "And you clearly feel terrible too."

"I," says Ben, "am fine. I'm just a little bit bruised. Bruises heal. I'll live."

"Stop acting like it's not a big deal!" Skandar snaps, unable to stop himself. "I beat the shit out of you."

"Yes," says Ben, very slowly. "By mistake."

Skandar becomes aware that they're sort of going round and round in circles, and he's not sure what more he can say to get his point across. It's a combination of that, perhaps, and of course the overwhelming guilt, that leads to him sort of awkwardly butting his head forwards and bumping his lips up against Ben's.

Ben instantly recoils with a sharp "ah", frowning deeply, his fingers going to his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Skandar says, flustered.

"What are you doing?" Ben snaps. He sounds angry, like he thinks Skandar was actually _trying_ to hurt him, and Skandar feels like it should be pretty fucking obvious what he's doing. 

Only it isn't, because he has no idea. What the fuck is he doing?

Whatever it is, he's doing it again—reaching forward and grasping Ben's wrist maybe a little too firmly to tug his hand down away from his face. And Ben's face shows confusion and maybe a little bit of trepidation, as Skandar leans close again, presses his lips to the other, less-purple side of Ben's mouth, much more gently. And this time Ben doesn't flinch away, but he doesn't exactly do anything else, either, and so after a moment or two, Skandar pulls back again.

Ben is just staring at him.

"Um," Skandar says, grappling wildly around his own brain for some actual words.

He never finds any, as just then there is a loud knock on the trailer door and Michael's voice interrupts the incredibly awkward proceedings.

"Ben," he says, sounding somewhat grave, "there's a doctor here to see you."

Skandar feels like his whole body is deflating. All the colour drains from his face. 

A _doctor._ He's hurt Ben so badly he has to see a _doctor._

**

The following days on set are—unsurprisingly—incredibly uncomfortable. In fact, they are uncomfortable in a few ways. For one thing, though the bruises on Ben's cheek and leg have almost faded after about a week, his mouth is still badly damaged. The doctor told him mouths tend to overreact to any sort of impact injury, and because the skin is so thin, bruises can be a lot worse there than on other parts of the body. She also said that, on the upside, mouth injuries tend to heal more quickly than others, but this doesn't seem to be the case for Ben. 

It hurts for Ben to do pretty much anything that involves his mouth. Smiling, laughing, shouting, eating, drinking...kissing. Kissing is not something he expected to be doing on set at all, but apparently Skandar has other plans, and Ben is not sure how to feel about this, let alone what to _do_ about it, and so he settles for internal distress and avoiding Skandar wherever possible. Skandar is quite obviously mortified by the entire incident, so he seems okay with this plan too. Things go as well as they can, for a little while.

Until the tackling scene.

It's not an easy scene to begin with, seeing as the main focus of it is something that isn't actually _real_. He's supposed to be saving Skandar from an enormous sea serpent, but of course, there isn't anything there, which makes the danger seem a little less urgent. It's not as if he's not used to acting with imaginary creatures by now, but the size of this one makes it considerably more difficult.

The other tricky thing is that what he's supposed to be doing is giving Skandar a full-body tackle, throwing him across the deck out of the way of the fictional serpent. He's not sure he's actually touched Skandar since that awkward moment in his trailer when there was much more touching going on than usual, so this...is a problem. 

The first time, he doesn't use anywhere near enough force, and just sort of awkwardly wraps his arms around Skandar, while Skandar is left to basically flop down onto the deck with Ben half-lying on top of him.

Michael, predictably, tells them that was rubbish, and asks if maybe they could do it again.

"Yeah, and do it like a _man_ this time, please," Skandar snorts, and perhaps he's just trying to clear the tension in the air but it kind of pisses Ben off. 

It's really not fair—Skandar should understand that Ben's not really in the mood to tackle him right now, and that being wary when it comes to physical activity between them is probably for the best. But he doesn't seem to be taking any of that into account, and is instead just standing there smirking at him.

So this time, Ben really goes for it. He hurls himself at Skandar, grabs him round the waist and shoves him aside, throwing the two of them forcefully down onto the floor. There's a horrible, sickening _thud_ , a crack that sounds like somebody's armour breaking, and then a pained groan.

All in all, it's not good. (Though it probably comes across better on screen than his first attempt.)

Carefully, and also incredibly clumsily, Ben clambers off Skandar, slumping on the deck beside him and peering at him anxiously.

"Um," he says. "Oops. I—are you okay?"

Skandar's face is all screwed up, his hand wedged in the opening of the armour at his side. He looks like he's been winded.

"I was trying to do it like a man," Ben says pathetically. Somewhere in the distance, he hears an anxious yell of _"CUT!"_

He glances around the ship, exchanging concerned looks with various extras. Then he meets Georgie's eyes, and she comes trotting over, crouching down at Skandar's side and trying to pry his hand away from his waist.

"His armour came loose," she informs Ben after a moment of prodding around that Ben is glad he didn't have to do. Skandar is cursing and muttering protests at her. "It's kind of jabbed into his side."

"That'd be why I feel like I've been stabbed, then," Skandar groans.

"You're not bleeding," Georgie says, "but I think you're going to have a pretty bad bruise."

"Join the club," Ben says, and laughs hollowly, mostly to himself.

"Oh, you're happy to get even, are you?" Georgie snaps, sounding more cross than Ben's heard her in a while.

"No—I just—" Ben stammers, taken aback. He's never been very good at dealing with an angry Georgie, and even though he knows she's not _really_ mad at him and is just worried about Skandar, it still hurts. "He told me to do it like a man," he says in a quiet voice.

Georgie just sighs and ignores him. "Can you get up?" she asks Skandar in a much softer tone of voice.

"I don't know," says Skandar, "but here's a question—why does it feel like something's sliced my leg open?"

Georgie helps him to roll over, and reaches for his leg, feeling behind it. "Oh," she says. "Oh dear."

"What?" Ben and Skandar's voices are one.

Georgie pulls out a sword. "You kind of fell along this."

"That'd do it," Skandar says. His voice sounds sort of tight, strained.

"Do you think it's bleeding?" Georgie frets, patting at Skandar's thigh. 

He shoves her hand away, blanching, but says, "No. No, it just stings. I don't think it cut me."

"I think maybe we should take a break," Ben suggests, raising his voice and feeling quite proud of the authoritative tone he manages to take on. 

Of course, then he tries to help Skandar to his feet and is overpowered by a fourteen year old girl.

**

Skandar flops down on his bed within seconds of entering his flat, just lying sprawled across the sheets with his feet dangling over the footboard. Georgie insisted on taking him out for pizza, to take his mind off the events of the day, which was really very nice of her but now he's completely exhausted, from the day's drama in general and especially from having to repeatedly assure everyone that he's okay. Now he just needs to _unwind_ , and, well, there's one way in particular that he usually does that. 

He undoes his jeans, snakes a hand down into his boxers experimentally. That doesn't seem to hurt too much—the muscles in his arms are aching, but not too much more today than they have been the whole shoot so far, so he strokes his hand over himself. There's a bit of a nasty scrape on his thigh from where he fell alongside his sword, and that definitely hurts when he brushes against it with his fingers. Even so, he's starting to grow hard, and he shuts his eyes and settles back against the bed, trying to clear his mind.

He can't help but think of Ben, though. It's been this way for maybe a month now. He'd never really thought of other guys that way before—well, all right, maybe a few times, but never quite like _this_ , not to same degree that he thinks about girls. And now it seems like he can't just have a simple wank without Ben drifting into his mind, Ben with his muscles and his tanned skin and his _tallness_ , and his beard, and his smile, and—it makes Skandar feel more than a little pathetic. 

Actually, he didn't let himself make the mental connection at first. He mostly just got annoyed at Ben's presence in his thoughts while he was trying to get himself off. But after the Swordfight Incident, things changed. After the Swordfight Incident, Skandar kissed Ben, almost instinctively, just _did_ it without consciously knowing why. And after that, it was a bit tricky to try and pretend he didn't know what all of these thoughts and feelings meant.

He'd quite like to know how _Ben_ feels about the whole thing, though. It seemed, for a while there, that he just wanted to pretend it never happened, which Skandar was reasonably okay with (after all, it was a pretty mortifying experience). But then there was today. Today, Ben responded to a relatively harmless little jibe by slamming Skandar into the ground. That's got to signify some serious pent-up sexual frustration, Skandar thinks, and if it does, he wants to know about it. Because if Ben feels the same way, then they can stop beating about the bush—so to speak—and get on with it.

He sighs. His mind is too full to focus on what he's doing, and he's just sort of going through the motions, not really feeling all that _excited_ and just responding to an animal need. Of course, he's not given much of a chance to _try_ and work himself up, before he's being interrupted by a knock on the door.

He's forgotten how hard it is to actually be left alone on a _Narnia_ set. Even with their own trailers _and_ apartments, it's still an achievement if they manage to catch a half-hour of privacy.

For a moment he just lies there, ignoring it. It's probably Georgie, coming to check on him again, he thinks. But then the knock comes again, louder and longer, and he heaves a sigh.

"Hang on!" he yells, springing to his feet and stuffing his hard cock back into his jeans. The zip catches on the fabric of his boxers and he swears, loudly, yanking it free. He simultaneously pictures all the least-sexy things he can think of while fumbling to get everything done up and looking presentable.

**

Ben has been pacing for at least five minutes, if not ten. He's already feeling guilty enough for the injuries he's caused Skandar, and now he's feeling guilty for not being there to tend to them right away, or at least take a moment to apologise in private. It's taken him the entire rest of the day to work up the courage to actually come and knock on Skandar's door. 

He knows why he's so anxious about it, at least. It's because he knows, deep down, that it's not just going to be a simple _"so, I hurt you, sorry about that."_ He knows that if he's actually left alone in a room with Skandar for more than a few minutes, and allows himself to be emotionally vulnerable by apologising to him, there's a very high chance that Things will happen. Things with a capital T. And he's still not quite sure how he feels about that.

On the one hand, it really shouldn't be a big deal, because Things happen all the time, and it doesn't matter if they're happening between two people of the same sex, two people who work together...or two people who are ten years apart in age.

That one is kind of the problem. Ben is not exactly a stranger to Things with his own sex, nor does he see why blurring the lines of an already not-so-professional professional relationship is such a big deal. But Skandar is _ten whole years_ his junior, and it doesn't matter that it almost never seems that way, because it's just the cold hard truth.

He's almost decided to make a run for it when Skandar opens the door. 

"Oh."

"Hi," says Ben, and tries really hard not to stare at Skandar's crotch. He's sure he usually has more self-control, because really, this is rather shameless, but it seems like Skandar's jeans are too tight or something because that is _quite_ a bulge.

"Hi."

"Can I—" Ben starts, and then stops again, running a hand back through his hair in agitation. It's really, really hard to focus on the whole apologising thing, now that his mind is full of Things. "I just wanted to say sorry, about earlier."

Skandar heaves a sigh, makes an exaggerated gesture into the room. "Come in," he groans in a sort of resigned manner.

And as Skandar leads him to the bedroom (oh god, the bedroom, practically the headquarters of all Things), Ben notices the way he's limping slightly, and is hit by a sudden stab of guilt. He remembers how he, too, was limping around set for a couple of days after Skandar had stabbed him in the leg, and he feels terrible—both for causing the limping in the first place, and for focusing more on Things than that.

Skandar sits on the bed, looking at him expectantly, and Ben's thoughts go swimmy.

"Is it really bad?" he hears himself ask.

"What?"

"The pain," he clarifies. "Did I really hurt you?"

Skandar sighs, and Ben knows him well enough to recognise that sigh. He also remembers reacting like that himself, not so long ago, when everybody would be asking how he was after their sword mishaps. It's a sigh that means, _I feel terrible, but please stop asking me about it._

"No," Skandar says, "it's really not a big deal. Not as bad as what I did to you, anyway."

Ben frowns.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Skandar sighs.

"No," admits Ben. "Can I see?"

He says it without really thinking, because he really _does_ want to see the damage he's done, but then he realises that this will involve Skandar being in some state of undress, and that makes his head go a little funny.

Skandar is just looking at him. "Really?" he asks eventually.

"Really," says Ben.

Skandar still just looks at him, though, so he sinks down onto his knees in front of him and, decisively, places his hand on Skandar's hip, fingers tucked underneath the hem of his shirt.

"Is this okay?" he asks quietly.

"It's okay with me," Skandar says, looking somewhat doubtful, "I just don't think _you're_ going to like it."

Ben frowns, and hitches Skandar's shirt up, easing it up over his hip. This reveals a large dark patch of skin, much bigger than he expected, a sickly shade of purplish-blue around the edges and almost black in the middle. He can't hold back his gasp.

"Jesus," he hears himself mutter. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Skandar says, with a quiet, sort of nervous laugh. "I bruise easy. 'Cause I'm pale. And now we're even, anyway, I guess."

But when Ben brushes his fingers gently over the bruise, he hears Skandar's breath hitch and he knows it hurts more than he's letting on.

"Is that the worst of it?" he asks, hopefully, but Skandar hesitates before nodding, which tells Ben all he needs to know. 

His fingers are sort of trembling as he unbuttons Skandar's shirt, but Skandar doesn't stop him, doesn't even ask him what he's doing. He seems to understand. Ben finds his heart pounding faster as he helps Skandar out of his shirt, revealing pale skin dusted with freckles. He finds a second large bruise on Skandar's other side, and he realises with a horrible feeling that this must be where his body hit Skandar's with such force. He's stroking his fingers over it before he can stop himself.

His eyes flicker up to Skandar's face. Skandar is biting his lip. He's looking down, at his legs. Ben's hand slides down from Skandar's waist, onto his thighs and across to where Skandar is looking. He feels him tense up beneath his hand.

"Can I see?" Ben breathes.

"It's just a scratch."

"Let me see," Ben insists.

Skandar hesitates again, but then heaves a sigh and reaches down to begin unlacing his trainers. Ben is stopping him before he's completely aware of what he's doing, his hands darting out seemingly of their own accord and grasping Skandar's to pull them away. Skandar looks at him, confused, but Ben just unties the laces, loosens them, eases Skandar's feet out of the shoes. There's no legitimate reason for him to remove Skandar's socks, too, but he does, peeling them from pale, slender feet as Skandar goes pliant, limp, letting him.

His hands are sweaty as he unfastens Skandar's jeans. He knows he's only doing it to inspect the injuries he's caused, but kneeling here on the floor in front of Skandar and undoing his _trousers_ is enough to make him sweat anyway. His boxers are grey, thin cotton, and Ben tries not to stare.

Skandar blushes as he gets to his feet and slides the jeans down his legs, stepping out of them before quickly sitting back down, arms awkwardly by his sides. Ben is startled to see a long, vertical trail of blood on the leg of Skandar's boxers now—starting thicker, ending in sparse drops. His eyes flicker up to Skandar's once again, and he can't imagine what his face must look like.

Gently, so gently, he pushes the hem of the boxers up, his hand shaking so badly it's obvious now, and he's embarrassed because Skandar can not only see it, but feel it too, his fingers trembling against the bare skin of Skandar's thigh. The long, painful-looking scrape is revealed bit by bit, an angry red stripe down white skin. It disappears beneath the fabric, leading right up to Skandar's hip, but Ben doesn't dare push the boxers up even more. 

It's stopped bleeding but, he discovers, is still hot to the touch. Skandar jerks beneath him when he places his hand over the wound.

"Sorry," Ben says instantly, but he can't quite bring himself to remove his hand, marvelling at the heat and the feel of the thin cut against his palm.

"I-it stings," Skandar stammers, and his voice sounds throaty, almost hoarse.

"I'm sorry," Ben says again. 

He still can't move his hand. He thinks he should probably get some ice, maybe, or some antiseptic cream, but all he can do is think of Things, think of when Skandar kissed him and how much it _hurt_. And when he meets Skandar's eyes, he finds himself lunging, his other hand grabbing Skandar by the back of the neck and pulling him into a violent kiss, frantic, messy, his fingers tightening instinctively around Skandar's skinny thigh. He feels Skandar's muscles tense as the pressure grows from his palm against the cut, and he doesn't know what he's doing, he's supposed to be _helping_.

Skandar's legs go weaker the harder Ben grips his sore thigh, he finds, weak enough for Ben to ease his knees apart and wedge himself between them. Skandar's hands go to Ben's neck, then cradle his face, and then Ben feels a thumb pressing, hard, below his eye, right on the fading bruise from the swordfight. He tenses up, startled, his hand slipping from Skandar's thigh.

Then, suddenly, Skandar is sucking at Ben's lower lip, where it's still slightly swollen. Ben whimpers against Skandar's mouth, lets him do it, but his hands clamp down around Skandar's hips. It's hard enough to make him gasp, and Ben feels a strange sense of satisfaction, but when he presses into the tender skin with his fingertips Skandar's teeth close on Ben's lip, reflexively, making Ben groan and jerk back.

"Sorry, sorry," Skandar mumbles, sheepishly, and he goes in to kiss Ben again, soothingly, but even the gentle brush of his lips is painful, and Ben has to push him away. 

It is a combination of Ben's force and the way Skandar is so yielding, that leads to Skandar lying on his back across the bed. Ben, still kneeling, catches sight of Skandar's thigh, and sees that his squeezing has caused the gash to well up with blood again, just a few small beads, droplets, glistening red. Ben stares in horror, immediately fumbling with his own clothes, pulling off his shirt and pressing balled-up fabric to the wound to try and staunch the flow. 

Skandar winces and starts to sit up as Ben presses the shirt against the cut harder.

"I know, I'm sorry," Ben says. "Just...to stop the bleeding."

"No, it's—your lip—"

"What?"

Ben touches the sore part of his mouth, brings wet fingers back down.

"It's bleeding too," Skandar says, quietly.

"Fuck."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Ben says, running his tongue gently over it, more to clean off the blood than anything else. He eases the shirt from Skandar's thigh, sees that the bleeding has stopped, and breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to press so hard."

"I didn't mean to _bite_ so hard," Skandar says. There's a brief, awkward silence, as the two of them are forced to acknowledge what they're doing. Ben looks up, nervously. Skandar looks a little wide-eyed. "God," he says, "this is stupid. We don't seem to be able to come into physical contact anymore without causing each other serious damage."

"No, it's kind of a problem," Ben agrees, and he laughs too—a sudden loud burst, almost surprising him. Perhaps he's just glad that the tension of the situation seems to be dissipating. 

But then Skandar goes quiet again, serious. "Wh..." he starts, and then sits up properly, looking Ben in the eye, studying his face for a moment. "Why?"

"Why is it a problem that we can't seem to touch each other without ending up bruised and bloody?"

Skandar rolls his eyes. "Well, yes, but," he says, "you know what I mean."

Ben says nothing. He brings his shirt to his mouth, blotting the blood from his lip. It's only when he brings it back down that he realises he's used a patch that is wet with blood already, _Skandar's_ blood, and that he can taste it in his mouth. The thought sends a shudder through him. 

"I just want to hear you say it," Skandar says, steadily.

"Because I—" he stops, takes a breath, unsure of how to phrase it and horribly aware of Skandar watching him so intently. "I like touching you. I _want_ to touch you."

Skandar nods, slow. "That was what I wanted to hear," he says.

He seems terribly vulnerable right now, sitting here in front of Ben in just a thin pair of rucked-up underpants and nothing else, while Ben is still mostly-clothed.

But then he waves a hand, says airily, "You can carry on. You know, if you like."

And Ben can't help but laugh. This time, when they kiss, it's slower, softer. Ben's mouth still aches, and he can taste the blood between their lips, but they're careful, gentle with each other. When Ben tries to lay Skandar down on his back, though, and crawl on top of him, Skandar winces.

"Maybe _I_ should be on top," he says, and Ben can't help but pick up on the double meaning.

Skandar only smirks, rolls Ben over and straddles him. When he leans down to kiss him again, however, the pressure on his hurt thigh makes him freeze abruptly, swearing.

"Fuck," he spits out. "I don't know how we can do this."

"Maybe—on your side? The side that doesn't hurt," Ben suggests, and he feels hot with anticipation. It's not as if he's been waiting for this moment for months, but it _feels_ like it all of a sudden, and to have obstacles like this that are their own damn fault is just frustrating. 

"All the sides hurt," Skandar complains, but settles down anyway.

"All of them?" Ben teases.

"Shut up," Skandar replies affectionately, pulling Ben forwards into a kiss that is just a little bit too rough. Ben bears the pain, though, because what Skandar is _also_ doing is reaching down between Ben's legs, gently palming him through his trousers.

"You're wearing entirely too much clothing," Skandar informs him after a moment of this.

"I think we can rectify that," Ben says, immediately fidgeting with his belt and toeing off his shoes at the same time. 

When he sits up to undo his trousers and take off his socks, Skandar scoots over to the edge of the bed too, and in a surprisingly tender moment, sweeps Ben's hair off his shoulder and leans in to kiss the skin beneath. Ben completely loses track of what he was doing, eyes falling closed as he turns into the touch. By the time he gets his clothes off, there's a sizeable bulge in his boxers.

An eighteen year old boy has done nothing but injure him and kiss him a couple of times, and he's hard from it. Some power Skandar Keynes has, he thinks.

"Have you ever done this before? With a guy, I mean," it suddenly occurs to him to ask, though he's not sure why. 

Perhaps being Skandar's first homosexual experience is a little more responsibility than he thinks he can handle. He's never been particularly good at the whole responsibility thing, especially not with this lot. Will and Anna run the show, really, and despite being the eldest, he came to things too late to establish any sort of authority. Not that he tried that hard. God, though, if Will and Anna could see them now—

Skandar interrupts his thought process. Thankfully. "A magician never reveals his secrets," is what he says, tapping the side of his nose.

Ben squints at him for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. "That doesn't even make sense!"

Skandar considers this. "No," he says eventually, and Ben's not sure if it's in answer to the question, or just agreement. He's also not sure that it really matters, because then Skandar is kissing him again, reaching for Ben's crotch and bringing him to full hardness in about ten seconds just by continuing to lazily palm him through his boxers.

Their breathing is getting heavier, more laboured. It seems Skandar is getting incredibly turned on just by touching him through his underwear, which is a thought that Ben can't quite cope with. 

When Skandar whispers, "Can I?" against his lips, Ben's brain threatens to shut down completely.

He hears himself respond with a sort of high-pitched, wavery, "Uh huh," and then Skandar is sliding his hand into Ben's boxers. There's a brief moment of skin-on-skin, a touch that Ben shamefully bucks right into, but then Skandar is drawing back again.

It's just to pull Ben's boxers off, though, it turns out, as he hurries to get them down Ben's legs and off. And then, to Ben's surprise, Skandar just takes a moment to _look_ at him, and it feels incredibly confident and intimate, his eyes following the form of Ben's body without shame. Ben's not a particularly self-conscious person—and even less so, lately, with his beard and his tan and his muscles—but Skandar's looking at him so intensely that it starts to make him feel a little uneasy.

"C'mere," he murmurs, and Skandar lies back down, curling up close to him, spitting into his hand before bringing it back down between Ben's legs.

He wraps his warm, wet fist around Ben's cock, and strokes up and down just a few times like he's trying to get used to the feel of it. It makes Ben almost certain that this is the first dick he's touched other than his own, but then Skandar really gets started, and Ben is lost. Skandar—he's so good that it's tempting to think he _must_ have had practice. It seems to come so naturally to him, despite the fact that the angle is totally different from how he'd get himself off. But then, Skandar is good at pretty much _everything_ , picking up skills immediately with little effort. This is something Ben has always envied, but right now he's glad of it, because it means that this is probably one of the best handjobs he's ever been given.

He's reminded that Skandar isn't even twenty yet, and is even more impressed.

"Good?" Skandar smirks against Ben's mouth, smug, and Ben flicks out his tongue, licks Skandar's lips.

Skandar twists his wrist, smoothes his thumb over the tip of Ben's cock and makes him shudder, and without thinking, Ben grabs out for something to hold onto and finds Skandar's bruised hip beneath his fingers. Skandar flinches, and very, very lightly sinks his teeth into Ben's lip in warning, making Ben squirm at the combination of feelings—the steady pain while Skandar's slick hand slides its way along his cock. It's kind of interesting rather than bad, which surprises him.

He slips his hand down to Skandar's boxers instead, across the fabric until he feels the way it swells out under his fingertips, the hardness there. And it really gets him, and he doesn't know why—having Skandar's hard-on against his hand. It's _Skandar._ He runs his fingers over the shape of him, light and slow, teasing—in direct contrast to what Skandar's hand is doing—tightly gripping him, movements quick and smooth.

He wonders whether he could get Skandar to beg for him to do the same. It strikes him that that's probably an odd thing to wonder, but then, he and Skandar have always had a fairly competitive relationship.

"C'monnn," Skandar groans after about a minute of Ben dragging his fingers ever-so-lightly across his still-covered erection. His hips have definitely come forwards, but he's so far refraining from actually trying to fuck Ben's hand or anything like that—unfortunately.

"C'mon what?" Ben asks innocently.

Skandar nips at Ben's lip, tightens his fingers around Ben's cock, and Ben's body jolts.

"Don't be a dick," Skandar says, voice low and almost husky. "Reciprocate."

It might not be begging, but it's probably as close as he's going to get, and besides, Ben gets a weird kind of thrill out of Skandar using such teenage boy phrases as 'don't be a dick' in the same breath as words like 'reciprocate'. And oh god, he really shouldn't be doing this with an eighteen year old, especially not one who only just turned eighteen less than two months ago.

But then Skandar is stroking a callused thumb over the head of Ben's cock, and Ben thinks that maybe it's okay to do this with an eighteen year old if they're _this_ good with their hands. He can't help but thrust his hips up, moaning, and he tries to focus on getting his hand down Skandar's pants but it proves difficult.

"Okay, you clearly can't multi-task," Skandar says impatiently, shoving his boxers down for Ben and then grabbing Ben's hand and just _placing_ it right on his cock, and the self-confidence of the gesture startles Ben and excites him at the same time.

He feels the hot, clinging skin against his palm, and stares at Skandar's face, his crooked grin. He feels Skandar let go of his hand, and watches the way his mouth falls open as Ben slowly curls his fingers around Skandar's cock.

It's strange, but he keeps his eyes on Skandar's face, closely watching his expression and the way it changes, instead of looking at what his hand is doing. He wants to, oh god, he really wants to, but it feels like he's not _allowed_ somehow, despite the way Skandar brazenly checked him out earlier. It still feels kind of wrong—Skandar is his friend, he's young, Ben shouldn't be seeing him like this.

He's the one making Skandar gasp like that, though, making him go all breathless and squirm against the bed. And even with the distraction, his concentration on Ben doesn't wane at all. In fact, Ben is already feeling the building approach of orgasm in the base of his spine, creeping ever closer, Skandar drawing it up through his body with the tight-wet-hot twist of his hand.

It feels like he, as the eldest, should not be the first to come, but he knows this is how it's going to be—the closer he gets, the more his grasp on Skandar weakens, and before long his hand is just loosely looped around him as he finds himself with his face buried in Skandar's shoulder, whimpering into hot skin with his hips thrusting feebly as Skandar expertly brings him over the edge. 

He feels somewhat pathetic for it, but Skandar is really, _really_ good. Stars burst behind his eyelids as he comes over Skandar's fist, and he's still draped over him and rocking almost mechanically back and forth a good while later.

"Hey," he hears Skandar's voice murmur, and dammit, he sounds smug again, "I know I'm good, but man, get it together."

Ben draws back, shaking his sweaty hair out of his face. Skandar is wiping his hand on the sheets, and Ben is a little bit embarrassed to look him in the eye, now. But when he does and sees Skandar grinning lazily back at him, he feels a bit better. 

Also a bit guilty and selfish. He should probably remedy that.

Not that it's a _chore_ —far from it in fact, he thinks, as he gently pushes Skandar onto his back and slithers down the bed, positioning himself between Skandar's legs. He takes a moment to look at him, and tells himself it's just revenge, but really it's just because he _wants_ to. He's actually a little surprised he didn't consider doing Things with Skandar sooner, because right now he looks sort of absurdly good, all sprawled out on the bed with his legs apart, naked and pale and sinewy, a smile across his pinkish cheeks and his dark hair mussed up with sweat. Even the mottled purplish skin on his sides and the angry red slash along his thigh don't take away from his beauty.

His cock rests full and flushed against his flat stomach, framed by slightly-protruding hipbones, and it's kind of long and thin, just like him. He doesn't look embarrassed, scratching idly at a freckle on his stomach and looking at Ben as if to say "And?". Ben shakes his head, smiling. He ducks his head, licks the length of Skandar's cock from base to tip, and Skandar lets out a shaky breath, lets his eyes fall closed. Ben does it again, tongue sweeping across the tender, hot skin. He's surprised, suddenly, by how badly he wants it in his mouth, and he can't torture Skandar any further no matter how much he'd like to.

He kind of forgets, in that moment, about his injury.

Taking Skandar's cock between his lip _hurts_ , swollen flesh stretching around similarly swollen flesh, and it aches even more the deeper he takes him. But god, it's so _good_ having Skandar fill his mouth like this, and he doesn't want to stop. He must be showing some of the pain on his face, though, because then he feels Skandar's gentle hand on the back of his head, and hears him ask, "You okay?"

He's not, but he's already decided he is definitely going to continue doing this anyway, and he's not particularly enthusiastic about the idea of explaining all of this to Skandar when he could just keep sucking his cock instead. So he responds with a bob of his head, which makes Skandar grasp a handful of Ben's hair and groan. 

In fact, the harder Ben works at him, working through the pain to slide his lips up and down the stiff shaft and tongue the sensitive tip, the more violent Skandar seems to get, actually _pulling_ on Ben's hair like he can't quite stop himself. And Ben is distracted from the pain in his mouth by the pain in his scalp, and then forgets all about it again because he can _taste_ Skandar and he's got him stretching his lips and writhing beneath him, and then Skandar's moaning and tugging at his hair again and the whole cycle repeats.

He's writhing so much that it's starting to get a little difficult, and so Ben slides his hands out, places them firmly on Skandar's hips to hold him down. He's got so many other things going on in his mind that again, he forgets about another rather important injury, until Skandar cries out and jerks beneath him. But considering all the yanking Skandar's doing of Ben's hair, it only seems fair, really, and so Ben holds him down by his sensitive, bruised hips, and tries to suck him so well he forgets about the pain.

Ben himself can't quite forget about the pain, though, as every time he slides his lips down Skandar's erection it brings a fresh ache, and eventually, too sore to continue, he pulls off and works Skandar with his hand. Occasionally, he dips his head down and darts out his tongue, flicking it across the head of Skandar's cock or sweeping it across his balls, urging him on. He can _feel_ how close he is, everything tense and tight in his hand. Holding Skandar down, he presses the pads of his fingers into the worse bruise on his side, experimentally, watching as the purple turns to white and then flushes dark again. Skandar moans, swears loudly, and comes with Ben's lips against the head of his cock.

Ben pulls the rest of it from him, licking the come from the tender skin of his lip when Skandar isn't looking, when he's still riding out his orgasm, hips shuddering under Ben's strong hold. There's a streak of white across the scrape on his thigh, Ben realises when he pulls back, and before he's entirely sure of what he's doing, he's licking along that line, feeling the slight dip of the cut beneath his tongue. Skandar's body quivers, and Ben swallows, gets a hold of himself and sits back up.

"Come here," says Skandar hoarsely, and he reaches down to grab Ben under the arms and haul him up the bed.

Unfortunately, Ben is a little too eager and Skandar is rather stronger than most people post-orgasm, and so Ben ends up going crashing into the light-fitting and banging his head quite severely against metal.

And then—of course—he ricochets off the thing and headbutts Skandar.

"Fffffuck," he hisses, hand clamped to his skull. "Sorry."

"Agh," is Skandar's groaned reaction, he too clutching his head and laughing sort of deliriously, "sorry, sorry. Oh god, what is _wrong_ with us?"

Ben slumps down onto a pillow, cradling his throbbing head and stroking the huge lump he can feel forming there. "I don't know," he moans. "I think maybe we're going to have to be forcibly separated."

Skandar, in another uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, leans forward and rakes his fingers gently through Ben's hair before pressing a kiss to the growing bump. "I don't think that would last that long."

"No," Ben agrees faintly. 

Despite the pounding in his head and the aching in his lip, he feels a strange sense of relief and satisfaction, and _comfort_. Like maybe things are all better now, and the tension is gone. Oddly enough, it feels like his relationship with Skandar has gone back to _normal_ , instead of having changed in any seriously significant way.

"So what now?" Skandar asks, and Ben is vaguely surprised—he wouldn't have pegged Skandar for the type to ask questions about the future after sex.

"I don't know," Ben says, and it's true, and he doesn't particularly want to think about things like consequences, about whether they're going to do this again (though he already knows that they are) and whether they're going to keep it a secret (though he already knows that however hard they try, it probably won't work). So instead, he says, "I guess we keep going until one or the other of us ends up in hospital," and shrugs.

"Sounds good to me," Skandar replies, tucking himself under Ben's arm and settling down for a nap.

After all, at least while they're asleep, they can't mortally wound each other.


End file.
